


Made With Love

by Vinovixen



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Restaurant, Anxiety, Chef Katsuki Yuuri, Chef Victor Nikiforov, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, M/M, Pining Katsuki Yuuri, Slap Slap Kiss, Slow Burn, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-23 13:46:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30056379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vinovixen/pseuds/Vinovixen
Summary: Yuuri can't stop himself from becoming turned on by his arguments with Victor. But it's probably just friendly banter, right?(Famous chef Victor Nikiforov has an influential role in every step of Yuuri Katsuki's culinary career. When they create their first restaurant together, new feelings surface).
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri & Victor Nikiforov, Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Comments: 14
Kudos: 35





	1. Chapter 1

In one moment, it’s a mass of sensory. Stepping between the rotating doors, there’s a lapse between the two worlds. Room one is subtle, an almost heavy handed push to soothe. Quiet conversations, lazy lighting, a live piano plucking chords questioningly to tune.

Step between the two doors. A wave of sensory. Unforgiving lighting. Loud clanging of pots. Rapid overlap of conversation in multiple languages. Fragrant smells that envelope to the point that no one root cause can be distinguished.

The room is fluorescently lit. A classic silver counter juts along the center of the kitchen, leading to a square table for plating dishes. Appliances all over. A second background line, slightly out of sight. Loud laughter fills the room.

Yuuri Katsuki is unconsciously shaking, not a single 20-seat izakaya back home can prepare for this. His first real restaurant job, a 5-star spot in New York. Hired at the lowest of the low, partially to wash dishes and partially to step into prepping food when necessary.

“But," he reminds himself. His eyes are glazed over, watching a tall line cook laugh loudly while pulling prepped vegetables to his station. “I am only 18, have never been to culinary school and am lucky enough to be here at all.”

Yuuri is interrupted from his musings when a voice behind him calls over his head, “Victor, is it a problem if I’m still drunk from last night?”

He rotates his body to survey the man behind him. A smug curly haired blonde is grinning toward the end of the line. Yuuri surveys his uniform. A server. He turns back, but his view of the cook is obstructed by an overhead fan.

Instead Yuuri notes Victor’s right hand, slender fingers dicing vegetables and the barking laugh back, “Legally, you shouldn’t be drunk at work, Chris. Ethically and morally…” the lilting Russian accent pauses thoughtfully, “Well, it’s also probably not ethically or morally great to be drunk at work either.” The two voice laugh good naturedly.

The curly haired man slides past Yuri to walk closer to the end of the line, “But in the spirit of fun?” Victor leans down to get closer to Chris, grinning mischievously, “it definitely opens us up to some interesting possibilities on how the shift is going to go.”

Yuuri is taken aback for a moment. This man doesn’t look like a classic kitchen employee. Long and silver hair pinned behind elvish ears, delicate features, bright blue eyes that twinkle. A heavy contrast from the typical mismatched array of pirate crew that Yuuri has worked with up to this point.

“This is what happens when you try to keep up with the Russians, I have never felt better in my life,” Victor teases.

“Bullshit.”

Victor poses a hand to his chin thoughtfully, “Maybe I will be out tonight again. I feel strong.”

Before Chris can reply, Victor’s eyes move beyond him. “Ah, who are you?” The tone shifts from teasing to polite in a breath.

Yuuri feels a blush creep on his face. The blue eyes are inviting but intensely fixated on his face curiously. He moves his eyes away from Viktor’s before responding, “Yuuri Katsuki. I just got hired”.

Yuuri chances a glance back and Victor’s face is stretched into a grin. “Ah perfect, you will be with Georgi on prep today until dinner service starts and then we will shift you to washing dishes.”

His face heats up even more. Although polite, there’s something about the authoritative and firm tone that is giving Yuri a curiously nervous feeling. _Who is this person? I know this isn’t the Chef but-_

“Yuuri?” Victor is staring at him curiously. _Oh no, he’s been waiting for an answer this whole time. Embarrassing._

“Yesofcoursethatworksokay,” his words fall out of his mouth in a rapidly, anxiety riddled barrage. He takes a deep breath dimly realizing he had stopped breathing for a moment. Victor and Chris are staring at him with passive amusement. Yuri forces his next words to come out slower, “Thank you for the opportunity.”

Chris laughs, “It's just washing dishes, but I like your spirit Yuuri”

There’s a steady dull beating his chest in mortification. Victor doesn’t say anything and doesn't laugh. His face shifts to study Yuuri, who can feel his body shaking again under these eyes.

The moment is broken by the crash of an open door and an angry snarl, “Giacometti, you better not be drunk on my floor.”

Chris shifts his body upright into attention immediately, turning to the short, red-faced man who just exited the office parallel to the kitchen line.

“Yakov! I missed you!” Chris rang out innocently.

“Do you mean, chef?”

“Chef, I missed you.” Chris confirmed, wiggling his fingers teasingly.

His eyes maneuver over Chris suspiciously. Yuuri can imagine that he is taking in the disheveled hair, slightly wrinkled uniform and bloodshot eyes but Yakov doesn't openly question it. Instead smiles coldly, “So, we're guessing there will be no mistakes from you because you are in great shape.”

Chris beamed, “Exactly!”

Yakov narrows his eyes, as Chris sheepishly grins and motions to the back of the kitchen as if required elsewhere, before leaving the line. For good measure, Chris loudly calls out “Oh, Georgi. Of COURSE I’ll try your chicken stock! Thank you for asking.” In the distance, Yuuri can hear the faint sound of a Russian accent intonating, “What do you want, Cristopher?”

As Yakov turns to Victor, Yuuri can’t help but smile. The silver-haired man seemed to be doing his best impression of seriousness, turning away from Yakov and pensively analyzing his knife. If Yuuri hadn’t been near for the earlier conversation, it would be convincing. Yet Yakov seemed to not be as easily swayed either.

“Vitya, don’t encourage him. You are my sous and shouldn’t be drinking with so many of the staff below you.”

_Oh, sous chef. So that dignified authority that I feel from him is grounded in something tangible. How old is he? He looks so young._

Victor shrugs his shoulders, prodding at his knife now with two fingers, “Going out with the staff is a good way to inspire comradery” 

“You don’t listen to me. You never had. Be more serious or someone will take your job from under you.” 

“I would like to see them try.” 

Victor had a playful smile, but the glint in his eye gave way to another emotion. Yuri wanted to study him, _Is he angry?_

Yakov turned away from the line. “Katsuki, come. Georgi will be showing you the prep we do in advance on our busiest nights.” Yuuri shyly pushed himself to move forward, imagining eyes on himself the whole way back.

\--

Yakov center-stage, standing next to the general manager Lillia. Yuuri joined the crowd, craning his head, a glimpse of silver hair obstructed by the cooks near him.

Yuuri took this as an opportunity to relax his muscles. The prep work had been hard and complicated. While he was the best at the Japanese pubs he had worked at, a two-time Michelin star french restaurant was a new level.

Georgi was beyond anything he had ever seen. The pace was fast, recipes more complex, and nothing is written down. Intuition and knowing when to jump in and help is clearly a vital skill here. And Yuuri knew that he had not offered much in the way of support, often hindering the prep process. _I should have stayed in Japan,_ was the pressing thought.

Lillia cleared her throat, flipping through her clipboard. Each server has a copy of the people at their reservations. 3 allergies tonight. Gluten for two and seafood for one.” a buzz of annoyance whispered amongst the cooks, immediately silenced when Lillia flipped her eyes off the paper. She turned back.

“Unfortunately there’s an overlap on two of the allergies at 6:30. Yakov will have to step away from plating the food to help with one of the gluten allergies. Georgi will focus on the seafood allergy in the back at the same time. In that time, we will have to shift Viktor from the line to expedite food. We will pull Yuuri off of washing dishes to help run prepped food to the cooks from the back prep area”

Yuuri felt a wave of heat flush across his body. _Running prepped food? It's my first day here and I don’t know where anything is._

As if reading his mind, Yakov adds. “It's not ideal, but it's the best we can do since we lost JJ as a lead line cook. There will be lapses in our system at times until we build ourselves up again.”

In a carrying whisper, Yuuri hears Chris mutter, “I would rather make the food myself than have JJ back in this kitchen”. His voice halted when Lillia eyed him coldly. Yuuri stands on his tiptoes to get a view beyond Georgi. Chris’ ears pink, a forcibly placid smile fixed on his face.

Lillia turns back to the clipboard as if nothing happened, lifting up the first page. “The party I really want everyone to pay attention to is Lawrence Aldin at table 6 at 5:30pm. As you are all aware, he is a first-time guest and New York’s governor. Chris will be the official server but I want everyone’s eyes on him.”

Her eyes roam the room, accepting the solemn silence. “Remember, this isn’t Olive Garden. The guests don’t care about your names and aren’t here for your funny stories. This is about food and understated, quality service.” Eyes flitting back to Chris then to the crowd. “And for fuck sake, can someone help Giacometti iron his shirt before we go on to the floor." She pauses thoughtfully, "And maybe get him another vodka shot so he doesn’t hit his hangover mid-rush.”

The whole group roars with laughter, Yuuri feeling himself bustled to the side as the cook next to him reaches over to clap Chris on the shoulder. From his new vantage point he can see Victor fully, grinning across the circle of people at Chris, mischievously.

It happens so fast. Victor turns, blue eyes catch Yuuri’s eye for a moment before giving an exaggerated wink. There’s an immediate sweeping ache in Yuuri’s lower stomach, his heart racing. _What?_ But Victor is already looking away. Mouth impishly turned up, teasing Chris. Yuuri can’t even hear the words.

The conversation shifts from Lillia to Yakov, who seems to spend most of the time talking about how servers shouldn’t ring in, “Fucking stupid orders.” _Is everyone’s language here so vulgar?_

Yakov soon turns, “Tonight is our own Victor’s first menu. Built around the inspiration of the cross of winter and spring in Russia. There are two etree options but 3 preceding courses and a dessert that are decided in advance.”

There’s a flurry of noise of papers being flipped around. Yuuri scans the crowd and notices each server fervently writing details down.

On cue, Victor steps forward into the circle. The energy drops considerably, eyes on him. His face turned up thoughtfully. Yuuri is taken aback for a moment. All joking, flirtatious energy is gone from the man’s face.

“No Russian restaurant has ever won a Michelin star.” he gives a wry smile to the group. “Russian food is too unpredictable and liberal with flavors to be recognized as a viable influence in the culinary world. I will be the first chef to earn a star with a restaurant in Russia.” Yuuri is stunned to silence along with the group. Victor’s passion shining through his face, confidence overtaking the room. There is no doubt in what he says, only a factual certainty.

“Borscht is a simple dish. However tonight, the opposing entrees will be opposites. One option is more classic. Chicken stock, vinegar, hot. The opposing option is cold, vegetable based, muted. This is the crossroad between old and modern Russian cooking.”

Victor smiles, “Each option is good for different reasons. Recommend the first dish to someone who wants to be overwhelmed by a mass of flavors and seasonings but loves traditional. Recommend the second to those that love delicate flavors and want their view of Russian cooking to be upturned.”

Out of the corner of his eyes, Yuuri notices a cook step forward with a dish. Victor smiles, “For dessert. Medokiv cake.” Silence falls.

A young girl in her serving uniform raises her hand, “How do we describe the cake” A murmur of thankfulness.

Victor’s mischievous grin returns. “It’s an old Soviet Union era cake. Classically it’s made with leftover sponge cake, sour cream, honey and condensed milk.” Viktor pulls the plate from the waiting cook, lifting it to the center of the group. “Of course, I had to infuse it with a pound of fresh violet and incorporate sugar-spun flowers into the icing because I can't ever relax.” the group titters with laughter as Victor stretches out forks.

People slowly leave Yuuri’s side, praise ringing out across the kitchen. Chris’ boisterous laughter ringing out an implication of doing something dirty to the cake, immediately cut short with a hiss of disapproval from Lillia.

Yuuri steps forward behind the group. When he reaches Victor, there’s only a corner of the piece of cake. The tall, silver haired man is so close, eyes seek his, “Once you try this cake, you may fall in love with me and beg to marry me.” His blue eyes crinkle at their corners as he grabs the fork and lifts it to Yuuri’s mouth teasingly.

 _Unwarranted confidence. I don’t want this man to walk away believing that he has power over me like he has over everyone else here._ A fire is stoking in Yuuri’s chest. In one impulsive and fluid motion, he leans his head forward and puts his mouth gently around the fork, slowly sliding his tongue across the grates. _You have no power over me._ There's a sharp pain in his lower stomach, but he forces himself to fix his brown eyes on Victor with what he hopes is unwavering confidence. Blue eyes blink back.

Moving away. He pretends to think about the cake. But it's melting against his tongue, violet flavor wafting through every pore of the sponge cake. Heavenly, amazing. Sweet but not overpowering. But… that cocky tone and expectant eyes. Something about the challenge of being told that it would impact him positively, and the arrogance of being hand fed, annoying him.

_He doesn’t need me to say that he’s amazing, but he likes the idea of me fawning over him..._

Yuuri placed a finger against his chin thoughtfully, “It’s a decent cake, but I think I’ll stay single.” Victor blinked at him, a cocky expression had fixed into something that Yuuri couldn’t quite place. _Surprise?_ Blue eyes fervently analyzing his face. Then a wide, teasing smile.

“Are you trying to make sure that I know you’re single for any specific reason?”

Yuuri feels his skin go red but fights to keep his voice level, opting for his best attempt at neutrality, “Your cake has a lot of potential. I’m excited to see how you grow over the years.” Victor’s grin grows wider. Yuuri snorts, shifting his body away in silent goodbye.

_Something about him makes me so nervous._

As he turns, he hears Victor’s chipper voice call out, teasingly, “Yuuri, I think I heard you moan with pleasure when you took a bite. Imagine what you will do when I grow over the years.”

“Goodbye. I have items to prep.”

“I’m going to train everyday for you, Yuuri Katsuki. It seems really important to you.”

“The cake is fine. Goodbye Victor.” A warm laugh follows him as he walks back to the prep area.

\--

Hours later, Yuuri is home. His studio apartment is the cheapest he could find so the cold seeps through walls. Chef’s coat peels off with a sigh of relief, shower set to the highest point. Stepping in, he’s thankful that the shower shocks and scalds his skin. There was so much grit on today, a normal shower wouldn’t do the job.

The dinner rush was not what he imagined. It was busier than anything he had ever experienced. But he couldn’t shake the rush of balancing two positions and his excitement when he was involved in the busy points. His pressing anxiety subdued for hours because all he could do was think about what was ahead of him. But now in bed, the anxiety is back. Every facet of it. The endless barrage of unavoidable thoughts, fixations, fears, and self-deprecations. The inadequacy.

_Why didn’t I ever go back to school? What if I never make enough money to care for my parents? Why didn’t I talk more at work today? Why have I been single my whole life? Will I die alone?_

Yuuri rotates in the bed with annoyance. _No, not tonight. I have work early tomorrow._ He pulls his covers against his neck, tucking the edges beneath his arms, forcing a deep exhalation of breath. Forcing the focus to be on anything else.

The best moments of the day rush over him in a wave. He smiles, remembering Georgi saying that his demi glaze was up to standard. Chris left work early to go home with Governor Aldin and his wife. The kitchen found out and erupted into a hectic array of gambling over the possibility of a threesome until Yakov confiscated all the money. Relaxation overtakes him. Yakov said that he did good today.

But the last thing that he considers before sleep overtakes him, is blue and silver.


	2. Chapter 2

**Victor Nikiforov of Restaurant Carabosse on Redefining Russian Cuisine**

Rising star, Victor Nikiforov, is already waiting in the local coffee shop. Colored photos of plated dishes stretch at every corner of his table and a battered notebook balances on a stool. An initial impression of his pressed clothes, stunning features and growing reputation in the culinary field is immediately replaced by a genial, good-natured laugh that takes over the whole room, a childish excitement to show each dish off. 

Nikiforov began his career working under Yakov Feltsman at 16. At age 22 he became the youngest sous chef to work under him. A year has passed since then, and he has led to a new era at Carabosse. Each menu in the past 6 months was created by him with a new flair, “I want Russian food to have its time in the sun. It can be fine dining but still be reminiscent of home cooking. But most of all, I want to surprise my audience.” 

“Russian food has been stifled many times over the years. People don’t often realize this, but in the 1930s there was only one approved cookbook in the Soviet Union. That seems long ago, but it's important to note that we don’t have the same history with food as other countries. Food was often simply a blank necessity. But now, I think Russians want food that feeds their souls.” 

**(continued on pg. 34)**

\--

The hard thing about the long days and lack of time off at Carabosse (or any restaurant), is the fact that time seems to slip between your fingers. Each day had been the same pattern. Struggle to wake, go in early to work, stay late, get off and go home to force the biting adrenaline rush down. It’s only when the week has passed and laundry needs to be done, that Yuuri can fully slow down.

In two weeks time, Yuuri had proven himself capable enough to be shifted fully away from washing dishes. The pressing anxiety and feeling of inadequacy not going anywhere. But his time with Georgi, helping prepare items seemed invaluable. His skills were slowly being developed in the French cooking that he had never studied.  The anguish and need to succeed and be a part of their line was still powerful.

Moments passed in a flash. Save for highlights, it was long hours strung together with passing conversation. But Yuuri still learned. For example, it became common knowledge that Georgi calling his food “passable” was the closest he would get to a compliment from the dramatic Russian man. 

And had also learned that Chris had a fondness for groping his ass, often daring him to join him on nights out. The horror of this act was quickly replaced with a grim resignation as Yuuri realized that this was just Chris’ general greeting for all staff, friends or particularly brave customers. The groping had evolved to daily friendly banter, mostly with Chris sneaking scraps of food from the prep table and an endless barrage of dog memes back and forth over text. Yuuri sometimes responded.

March gave way to a favorite story of the staff, Lilia quitting dramatically mid-friday dinner shift, yelling at Yakov, “Manage the restaurant yourself.” before appearing back at work a week later as if nothing happened. There were whispers that there was a romantic component at play, but Yuuri couldn’t be too sure. 

Yakov often had meetings with Yuuri, taking advantage of his new prep experience to ask him for advice on ordering. They poured over Victor’s order sheets, scribbling new quantities to determine less products wasted. A few early mornings, Yakov even asked Yuuri to join him to walk through the local produce markets, a job he usually reserved for his sous chef.

But his favorite daily pattern was with Victor. The older man was often busier, bustling around the kitchen. Managing orders. Testing out new menu items. Meeting with guests. So it wasn’t often that they talked. But when they did, it was always in a similar pattern as if tradition. 

Victor would make a new dish, teasingly walking to the back prep area, blue eyes twinkling. A playful jab, “Yuuri, this one is like sex.” The comments had seemed to get more forward as the year had progressed. Once he had realized that Yuuri blushed to anything remotely sexual, it had taken a wicked turn. A new item, A quick bite. “It’s fine.” Victor’s smug expression. “You always say that when it's good.” Yuri’s quick quip back, “What do I say when it's bad.” A laugh, “Well it’s never bad.”  _ Yes, it’s fun but he’s still quite annoying.  _

Yuuri closes the kitchen most nights now. On Victor’s nights where he’s struck by inspiration, they share the kitchen. He moves around Yuuri’s path, sometimes speaking out loud to himself. “-rabbit tartare?” he pauses, before shaking his head. “No.” he crosses something out in his notebook, sighing and stretching to crack his neck. 

“This job is so brutal on my back!” he moans. Yuuri is on the ground, scraping grease from under a stove. The tone hints that this time the comment is actually directed at him. He slides out to look at Victor. 

The man is thoughtfully rubbing his shoulder, frowning at his notes. “Maybe it's the curse of bearing the weight of so much talent.” 

Yuuri rolls his eyes, drawing his attention back to the stove, “Maybe it's just your old age.” Victor gasps. “SO mean.” Yuuri tilts his head up, Victor now facing the mirror and frowning at his appearance as if looking for a sign of age. Their eyes meet. Yuuri turns away feeling his face heat up.

“Can I ask you something Yuuri?”

“Hmm?” 

“You’re the only cook here that doesn’t submit his own recipes for potential menu items. Do you not enjoy cooking?” 

_Ouch, is that how I come across._ He gathers his thoughts before replying, “No, there’s a reason I’m here. I’ve always loved cooking and the artistry of food. But- I mean -don’t you usually just choose your own recipes anyway?” he finishes his sentence sheepishly.

A loud laugh, “Oh, so you don’t submit anything because you are intimidated by my winning streak?”, Victor grins. He shakes his silver hair down, looking back to the mirror to tie it up again. 

Yuuri scoffs, “Not at all.”

“Then what?” They make eye contact again through the mirror.   


The words take effort to come out. “I don’t have a lot of confidence in myself.” The hardest thing to say out loud, but the most honest he has ever been with Victor. And something comically embarrassing to say to someone so self-assured. But the man doesn’t laugh and doesn’t take this as an easy opportunity for teasing. Instead his tone softens uncharacteristically. 

“Well, maybe that’s why I’m here. To help with that.” Victor said.

“Hmm.” Yuuri removes his glasses, shakily moves to sit on the stool across from Victor. He looks up shyly at the man who’s staring thoughtfully at him. It’s a nice thought, but It’s also a wildly inaccurate statement. Victor is here because this is the first step in his journey into doing something amazing. With each day of annoyance at this man’s ego, it was still a fact that he would do something amazing. Yuuri knew he could never touch on that.

But Victor continues, “What do you like to cook then? You’re from Japan right?” He rested his head on the palm of his hands. This had to be the most rapt Yuuri had ever seen him in a situation where they weren’t discussing his food.

“Yeah, um- my family owns a hot spring in Hasetsu. I’ve helped in the restaurant attached to it my whole life. Then as I got older, my sister got more involved and I moved on to my ballet teacher Minako’s bar.” 

“Ballet teacher? How long did you do ballet?” Victor said leaning forward, a strong look on his face.  _ What does that look mean? He thinks it’s weird. _

“Basically my whole life until last year.” Yuuri replies shyly.

“That’s so interesting, I admit that I don’t know a lot about ballet but I find anyone who studies a craft impressive. Were you any good?”

Silence for a moment, Victor is still learned forward, expectant expression. “Um- well other people said I was good.” Yuuri admits.

“I’m noticing a self-deprecating theme here so that must mean you were actually amazing at it.” Victor laughs at his embarrassment, “Why did you stop?”

“Cooking.” A pause, “I had always loved food and had fun at my parent’s restaurant. But when I started working at Minako’s spot, it was a little more chaotic. I had a lot of freedom to create recipes. And there was something so exciting about creating an item that people sought out.” “So to answer your original question, my main experience is in Japanese bar food.” For some reason his eyes watered, thinking about it.

“You miss your family,” Victor replies. 

“I do" Yuuri responds truthfully, "It’s hard to talk to them as much as I’d like with these hours. I can’t help worrying about them sometimes.”

“Well, I think that you’re doing great.” Yuuri’s eyebrows raise. “No, I mean it. You’re doing amazing for no culinary school or french cooking experience.”

He pauses. This close, Yuuri notices a faint trace of freckles line the other man's nose. His mouth turned up, continuing, “But I understand completely what you mean. There’s something special about creating something that causes people to FEEL.” 

Yuuri smiles, “I couldn’t agree more.” 

It's not until Yuuri is back home that he registers that this was his first real conversation with Victor.

\--

Summer is busy, 12 hour days turning into 16 hours. Yuuri has to really think about when the last day he had off was. This friday shift starts off like any normal day. Yuuri wakes up in a daze with a sense of dread. Not now, I don’t have time. He rushes to work, 

Chris slips behind the prep counter, sneaking a glance around. “Katsuki, please join us tonight.” His hand shakingly works to button his black dress shirt. Yuuri frowns, pushing the charring chicken around with tongs, looking up to take in Chris’ appearance. 

“There’s a stain.” Yuuri motions vaguely to the brown spot on the back of the shirt. Chris frowns, unbuttoning his shirt. “You didn’t answer.” 

Yuuri grimaces, focusing his attention back to his task. It was the first time Georgi had entrusted him with the chicken stock, Chris is here at an unideal time. Answering was his last priority. There was something incredibly dangerous about Chris’ nights out. And while Chris was a fun person to work with, Yuuri had a feeling that his chaotic energy would only amplify under the influence of alcohol and without Yakov’s steady hand. 

Chris removes the shirt, eying the stain appraisingly, “I don’t want to know what this is.” 

“Maybe demi-glace?” 

“You’re avoiding the question.” 

Yuuri sighs, annoyance creeping back, “I have to work early tomorrow.” Chris rolls his eyes, pulling a packet of alcoholic hand wipes from his pocket, tearing it open. “We all work tomorrow.” Chris pulls the wipe out, aggressively working it across the shirt. He pauses and frowns at the stain. 

“Am I even allowed to hang out with you? You’re a manager now.” Yuuri says.

Chris gives a low laugh in reply and eyed him teasingly, “This isn’t a fucking coroporate law firm Yuuri. Yakov pretends not to notice that we all hang out.” He leans closer to the stain, adding thoughtfully, “He may even be relieved that you have friends.” 

A loud whisper-hiss interrupts them, “Hey, what the fuck are you doing.”Mila peers around the corner of the kitchen line, taking in the scene; Yuuri calmly cooking. Chris shirtless, rubbing his shirt on a prep table with a wet wipe. 

Chris motions his head, beckoning her forward. She dramatically drops to the ground, army-crawling toward them. “Hey get off the ground, we just mopped” Yuuri hears a cook call from the front line. Mila grips the counter, using it to propel her body forward behind the line next to Chris and Yuuri. 

She grins up at the two men. Chris looks down in amusement, “Was that necessary?” 

“You look like you’re conspiring, I figured I should be sneaky too.” She shakily lifts herself up, offering a hand to Chris for support. She places an arm around Yuuri, right hand clutching Chris. “So what are we doing back here.” she whispers, eyes skating around the empty prep area, as if making sure the coast is clear.

Chris pouts, “Katsuki won’t go out with us tonight.” 

“Yuuri! Join us!” She releases Chris’ hand to clasp her whole body around Yuuri’s. He grimaces trying to balance with the added-weight, tongs gripped tightly in his hand.  _ No matter how much I say no, they still ask every day. _ He feels Mila stiffen, “Wait.”

She releases Yuuri, who takes this as an opportunity to begin taking items off the grill. Mila frowns and turns to Chris. “Why are you shirtless?” She looks up and down him appraisingly. “So you thought that seducing Katsuki is the best way to convince him to join us? You  _ dumbass _ .”

“No!” His mouth drops open, “Look at this.” He flings his shirt dramatically in front of her. Mila frowns, “I thought you realized it was there, I saw it last week when you were wearing this.” 

Chris let out a dramatic wail, “You’re lying to me!” Mila rolls her eyes, turning back to Yuuri, “Well?” Yuuri sheepishly smiles, “Well, I appreciate the invitation but-” 

Mila presses a finger to his lips and scowls, “Don’t answer yet. Think about it.”

Removing a finger, she grips Chris’ wrist, pulling him behind her, “There has to be an extra shirt in the employee room.” Yuuri can’t help but smirk at the forlorn, shirtless Chris being dragged away. 

\--

Lillia joins the circle of employees, before launching into a review of the night’s guests. Yuuri is distracted. He’s directly next to Chris, who’s laughing as Victor whispers something in his ear. Victor looks up and grins, catching Yuuri’s eye, “are you checking us out?” Yuuri rolls his eyes, “No, you’re just annoying me.”

A cleared throat. Yuuri turns to catch Yakov glaring at them. Silence falls on the three men.

Yakov’s glare lingers for a moment before speaking. “Tonight is a special night. It's also a sad night. In two weeks time, our own Victor Nikiforov will be heading back to Russia.” 

_ What? -No. _

Yuuri feels an unexplainable pang of surprise in his chest. A low murmur of voices has begun in the group. Chris claps a hand on Victor’s shoulder inappreciation.

“Viktor’s first restaurant will be opening in two months in St. Petersburg. Please take the time to offer congratulations.”

The meeting ends in a haze, the night is suddenly less exciting. 

\--

It’s after 1AM that evening when Yuuri’s phone buzzes. And buzzes. Again. Again.  _ What? _

**Chris:** Yuuuuuuuuuuurriririiriiiriiriiriiriiri

**Chris:** Hurry

**Chris:** H

**Chris:** U

**Chris:** R

**Chris:** R

**Chris:** Y

**Chris:** 8=D

Yuuri frowns at the screen.  _ What kind of smiley face is that? What an odd guy. _ He turns back to mopping the floor, once again pensive. Will it even be worth staying if Victor isn’t here? _No, that’s extreme._ There are plenty of great cooks here. On top of this, his relationship with Yakov has improved immensely in the last year. Georgi had been relying on him more French cooking was starting to make sense. Plus, there was so much room to grow still.

But a smaller voice can't be completely silenced, _You push yourself more when Victor is around_. Another buzz. Yuuri sighs, placing the mop down. 

**Chris:** Victor says he will buy you a drink 8=D 

_ Weird, how I get this text right when I’m thinking about him leaving.  _ Yuuri feels his face twist to the ceiling. After a year of knowing Victor, he can’t help feeling that he owes him this parting request. He types out a message, staring blankly at it. Erases. Retypes. Pause. He closes his eyes and forces himself to press send. The reply is almost instant.

**Yuuri:** I’m only 19, I don’t think I will get in. 

**Chris:** You’re fine, we know the owners.

**Chris:** Inferno nightclub . 10 min walk away. 

\--

It was nearly 2am by the time Yuuri could rush toward the neon pink-lit alley, a crowd swarming the bouncer. The steady bass aundalating between his ears to his chest.  _ I can already tell that this is really not my kind of place. _ Closing the kitchen had been a blur and probably not his best work. He knew he had set the alarm but couldn’t remember if he had put the mop bucket away or if he had even wrapped all the food items. But somehow he had made sure to rush to the restroom, changing into the street clothes in his backpack. Black jeans and a sweater.  _ That’s going to get hot.  _ As he slid it over his head, he beat back his anxious internal voice with,  _ Well what else are you going to wear, your chef’s coat?  _

Yuuri joins the crowd, pulling his phone out. 

**Yuuri:** Long line. 

After a minute, Yuuri began to nervously analyze the faces around him. Two men at the front of the line are arguing with the bouncer about whether their IDs are fake or not. The girl ahead of Yuuri sits pressing her back against the wall, head in her knees. Her steady rocking seemed to suggest that she's self-soothing to avoid getting sick.  _ This is a bad idea. Maybe I should just leave.  _

“Yuuri!”, a familiar face rings out. He looks up, to see Mila, smiling and wearing a black dress that shockingly contrasted her conservative serving uniform. She points him out, “That’s our friend. He also works at Carabosse.” The bouncer turns from the boys, studies him and for a moment, Yuuri is convinced that he will be turned away. But then he smiles, “Your friends have been extra rowdy today, please be careful. We also have a general rule to remind any new Carabosse staff that the chandeliers aren’t meant to hold the weight of an adult man.” 

Yuuri waita for a laugh. But when the expression just remained stoic, he nods in affirmation, looking beyond the bouncer, to Mila who is grinning and gazing up, “Alex-” She pauses for a moment to pull out a pack of cigarettes from her purse, slapping it against the palm of her hand before tearing open the carton, “-This problem has drastically gone down since we stopped serving Victor whiskey.” She hands a cigarette to the bouncer. 

“You have a point,” Alex replies, leaning down to accept a light. Mila grins and motions to Yuuri without looking his way, “Go on inside, I’ll join shortly. You shouldn’t have any trouble spotting the boys.” 

\--

Yuuri steps into the club. It's all too much. Too many people, too hot, too loud. But even in a haze of anxiety, Yuuri also feels shock in the apperance. A large and historical looking ballroom, seemingly converted into a nightclub. Bar central. The stripper poles at each table appeared to be an afterthought, definitely the least classy component of the building. 

He scans the crowd. Since he opted to take off his glasses, he is forced to go by faint blurs. At the far corner, he catches a glimpse of silver. Nervously walking over, he realizes that this flash of silver is gracelessly attempting to hang off of the stripper pole at their large table.

_ There are so many people here, I feel kind of sick. I don’t usually like being in crowds like this. I’ll just stay for an hour to be polite.  _

Chris is seated next to the table booing loudly, drink sloshing in his hand. “You suck at this, what’s the point of working out so much if you can’t even do a simple stripping routine.” Victor lets his body fall, gently bumping his head on the table before sitting up with his arms crossed. “I can bench press my weight” Chris yawns, “Boring. And also doubt it” 

“I’m still not sure how you’re so good at this, Chris.” 

“Years of experience.” 

Yuuri steps closer, the crowd around the table seeming to be mostly Carabosse staff. But he can definitely spot a few new faces. Chris looks up from aggressively poking at Victor’s abs with his finger. Confusion shifts to a warm smile, “Yuuri! I’m so surprised that you came!” Chris is practically screaming to fight the music and noise of the crowd.

Victor pans his head around to Yuuri in shock and says something indistinguishable under the music. Yuuri grins and points at his own mouth, slowly sounding out,  _ I can’t hear you.  _ Victor pouting in reply. Stepping forward to be in earshot, “What did you say?” Victor just gives a sheepish grin, shrugging a little.  _ He’s so weird.  _

It's in that moment that Yuuri takes in Victor’s appearance. It's always weird to see people out of their chef's coat. He's wearing all black, tight jeans, a low cut t-shirt. But most surprising, his hair is down. Light silver blond, fanning around his face as he moves his head. Yuuri forces his eyes away and back to Chris. 

“I’m so sorry that it’s so late. I don’t think I have time to get a drink. But it is nice to be out.” To that, Chris gives an absolutely evil grin. “You’re fine, bars stop serving alcohol at 4 AM here.” Victor smirks, “And Inferno staff will feed us delicious beverages until daylight if we tip well enough.”

Yuuri stares defiantly at Victor, “No wonder you always fall asleep in our morning kitchen meetings.” Victor opens his mouth in mock horror, “ _ You _ try to stay awake during boring technical meetings.” Yuuri rolls his eyes, “I do, each day.” Victor smiles, struggling to his feet. Chris has turned to begin yelling something about the song playing to one of the other servers. Victor reaches a hand out, “I owe you a drink.” 

Yuuri stares down at the hand, rests his own on top of it for a moment before turning away. _That was awkward, it was like a really half-hearted high five._ The whole walk, he can feel Victor pressing near him to not be lost in the crowd, a few fingers gently against his shoulder blade. Yuuri shivers, placing his hand against the bar. 

“What do you like?” Victor slides next to him, brushing his arm against Yuuri's. “Um” Yuuri charmingly replies.  _ What did he ask me again?  _

“Do you like vodka?” 

“Uh, well I’ve only ever really had beer…...oh, and champagne.” Victor turns his attention from the bar, looking down at Yuuri “And did you like champagne?” 

“Yeah it was good.” he answers truthfully. Victor smiles. “Seung Gil-” the bartender turns to scoff back at the first man. “No.” came the simple reply. He turned away, back to polishing wine glasses.

Victor cups his hands over his mouth, “Seung Gil!”

The man turns back to Victor suspiciously. “I’m not allowed to give you whiskey anymore, so don’t ask.” Victor grins back, “No, 3 bottles of champagne to the typical table.” 

“Paying now?”

“No, on Giacometti’s card, of course.”

“And he know's about this?” 

“Yeah it was his idea! You are welcome to ask him.” 

Seung Gil looks beyon them, impassive facial expression. Yuuri turns back curiously for s econd, Chris is dangling off the highest point of the pole and yelling something at the people below him. The bartender sighs, “You know that I don’t care enough about this job to ask that. I’ll have it right over.”

Yuuri watches as the bartender walks away before musing, “Interesting, I thought  _ you _ were supposed to be the one buying me a drink,” Victor laughs, stretching his arm around him. Yuuri flinches, feeling one arm around his shoulder, a hand on his waist.  _ He’s even touchier when he’s drinking. _ “This is only the first drink. You will get one specifically from me soon," Victor replies. 

\--

Three bottles of champagne somehow turned into three more, somehow evolving into vodka shots. Yuuri’s disinterest in entering the dance floor had long been absolved.  Chris has been absorbed in a conversation with some people he had just met, Yuuri draping across the couch. Viktor sitting up, describing his childhood home with a rapid mix of Russian and English. There was something soothing about it. Yuuri has no idea what he was saying, but he is feeling too tired to tease the other man. 

Nestling more into the couch, he looks down and notices, “where's is my shirt?” 

Victor rolls his eyes, “You keep asking me that.”

Yuuri sits up sloppily, “What?” 

“You gave your shirt to a gentleman at the bar over an hour ago.”

Yuuri feels a pang in his chest, “No.”

“Yeah, I told you that we could just keep it behind the bar but you started yelling at me in Japanese.” 

Yuuri tilts his head, noticing the man watching him. Hs blue eyes fix on Yuuri's for a moment. “I should probably get some water", Yuuri stands up quickly. 

“I’ll come with you.” 

The club lights are vivid, intense. It takes more of an effort to reach the bar this time. Yuuri leans against the metal counter, Seung Gil is chatting with people on the opposing side of the bar. But between the two men, there's a comfortable silence. Yuuri breaks it, “I like hearing you talk about your home.” 

“I really miss it.”   


“I can tell. Is that part of the reason that you’re building your first restaurant there?”

“Partially. I also like the idea of giving back to the community that gave me so much. I’m not close to my family, but there was still such a nice sense of community. I knew Yakov for years before I worked for him, and look at where that relationship has brought me. That’s ignoring the countless others who put money toward me going to culinary school. I can’t wait to create a place where all the people I know or love will feel joy. ” 

Yuuri smiles. In a rare, tender moment Victor actually looks his age, and less like a larger than life public figure. _It's endearing_. 

As if on cue, Victor's reflective facial expression shifts to a cocky grin, “Plus I want that Michelin star.”

He thoughtlessly replies back, “You’ll get it.”

“A rare kind word from Yuuri Katsuki.” Victor muses teasingly. 

Yuuri’s eyes narrow, “When your food gets better, you will get it.” Victor laughs in reply. Yuuri watches the man for a moment. He was feeling something odd that he couldn’t quite place. They didn’t exactly have a friendship, he couldn’t exactly even say that they even liked one another. But, there was something that his presence had given him.

Truthfully, Victor’s food has never been bad. Instead, he always confidently creates a shocking dish that hits all marks. _ I idolize him and idolize his cooking.  _ A tough pill to swallow.  Victor turns to Yuuri, eying him suspiciously over the pause in conversation, “Oh no, I look sweaty right now”, he immediately maneuvers his head down to catch his reflection against the silver bartop. 

“Victor, your food is-” he pauses grasping for words. Victor turns around, eyes wide. 

“No!” he almost shouts at Yuuri. He pauses, taken aback by the sudden outburst, retreating inward for a moment.  _ I’m too drunk to figure out what I did wrong just now, this is horrible.  _ But then he notices Victor’s expression. Victor smiling softly, taking Yuuri’s right hand in his, “The first time that you compliment my food won’t be when we’re drunk.” He feels lips brush across his knuckles.

He has a sudden strong ache in his chest. “I want-” he paused, blushing.  _ What do I want?  _ Victor’s eyes bore into him. Was Victor trembling? The hand around his own seemed to be shaking. “What do you want Yuuri?” His lips pressed back to Yuuri’s knuckle. Yuri feels dazed.

Victor was so close, his grip on his wrist. He smiles up at him, “I want to be a better chef than you someday.” Victor blinks in surprise before smiling, he drops Yuuri’s wrist, “Well first I would suggest, actually showing people your food.” 

Yuuri feels his face warm even more.  _ Who’s the arrogant one now?  _

_ “ _ _**B** **oys!**_ ” a shrill voice breaks across the music of the club, followed by a manic wolf-whistle. Victor shudders from the noise but Yuuri turns to see Mila balancing a server tray packed with jello shots. “Look what I stole from the party upstairs!”

“Not paid enough for this”, Seung Gil mutters. Waters forgotten, Victor and Yuuri turn back to join Mila. It's shortly after Chris rejoins their group and shortly after another round of drinks that Yuuri blacks out. 

\--

Yuuri has the strangest dream. 

_ Pink lights, everything hot and loud. He’s dancing with someone, hips rolling against them. His hand is gripping their shirt. The feeling of skin touching skin as he pushes himself closer. Hungry eyes poll before him, with his other hand he runs his hand through long hair. He leans forward, grazes his face nearer. A strong grip against his wrists, gently pushing him away.  _

_ “No, not like this.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thank you for the support!
> 
> I'm having a lot of fun writing this story. I'm passionate about food and Russia has such a unique history within the culinary industry. It's actually true that Russia doesn't have any Michelin star restaurants. Some argue that the Michelin Star is too conservative to pay attention to areas without an established culinary community and that its a sign of them being behind the times. Others' believe that it's because many Russian restaurants thrive on dramatically changing menus to create shock value (Sound familiar?).
> 
> This chapter is still setting the stage for a lot of the plot which is why I chose a timeskip. Yuuri still has SO much room to grow before anything serious can happen. He's still not quite confident enough to even recognize that there's mutual flirting happening. And at this stage there is minimal reason they would interact much at work since they are at such different professional levels. 
> 
> Future chapters won't focus as much on drinking, but it also wouldn't be a restaurant AU without it. That being said, this chapter is dedicated to my days of serving and the coworker who would always get us kicked out of bars.


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